


Poetry

by ficsandcatsandficsandcats



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-04
Updated: 2020-05-04
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:28:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 538
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23993788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ficsandcatsandficsandcats/pseuds/ficsandcatsandficsandcats
Summary: Reader Request: if its no trouble may i request a fic where the reader is a writer and she and jaskier’s relationship is sort of built on a mutual love for poetry? like one quoted a line from some poem when they first met and the other got super excited over it and the rest of it was history?
Relationships: Jaskier | Dandelion/Reader
Kudos: 4





	Poetry

A loud, echoing yawn rent the silence you’d been sitting in and you shot the man a glare. He blinked at you sleepily and the soft, unfocused expression on his beautiful blue eyes eased your irritation a bit.

“How is it going on your end?” he asked, calling over the many seats that spanned between you. You weren’t used to having company at the library. Most people abandoned it in the spring to spend more time outside. Most people, but not you who relied on the library as a place to work on your writing. Then this bard showed up one day, lute in one hand and leather bound notebook in the other, and forced you to share your space. If he were just a touch less handsome you may have actually lodged a complaint when he began strumming for tunes but you just squinted at him peevishly and tried to hide the way your foot tapped along to the song. You’d been surprised that he seemed genuinely focused. He had the discipline of a student, not a wandering performer, and his skill at research suggested time spent in a university. Still, you weren’t looking to make friends. No matter how handsome or charming.

“Just working,” you replied quickly, going back to your parchment.

“Oh same, same,” he said words falling away mid-yawn. You shook your head.

“You are tired, I think,” you said.

“Of the always puzzle of living and doing,” Jaskier said, finishing the line aloud as you said it in your head. You looked up at him in shock.

“And so am I,” you said, testing him. Excitement filled his pale blue eyes and he got up, reciting as he crossed the rows to get to you.

“Come with me, then,” he said, “And we’ll leave it far and far away.”

“Only you and I, understand,” you added breathlessly as he knelt by your chair, enraptured.

“I’ve never met anyone else who knew that poem,” he said.

“You must not spend much time around libraries,” you joked, but you were just as excited as he appeared. You’d loved that poem for ages and it was always overshadowed by the poet’s other works. Something about it struck you, though. Enough that you had read it again and again, memorizing each line until you knew it by heart. To find another whose heart writ the same words was an experience unlike any other.

“I’m Jaskier,” he said, “Jaskier de Lettenhove.”

“I’m Y/N,” you answered, meeting his outstretched hand with your own, “Y/N de Nilfgaard.”

He raised your hand to his lips, eyes never leaving yours as he planted a soft kiss on it.

“I know you’re very busy but do you think you might be willing to humor me with some more conversation about poetry?” he asked.

You’d heard that rogues and bards used all sorts of tools to charm their prey. You’d never realized they may resort to poetry. You never could have guessed how eagerly you’d comply. And neither of you could have known (though for years on Jaskier would insist he’d known from the moment he saw you) how that poem would start a love more beautiful than any saga ever penned.


End file.
